


Make things go my way.

by onsokunokikoushi



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Hate Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:29:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1622468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onsokunokikoushi/pseuds/onsokunokikoushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My fill for the F1 kink meme. Prompt was "evil" Ayrton! fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make things go my way.

**Author's Note:**

> The fic is set in 1985, when Ayrton and Elio were team mates at Lotus.

His eyes were big, deep and franged with long, curved,almost feminine eyelashes; his body could have rather belonged to a dancer than a driver: Elio had never noticed before, how slight and frail his team-mate was. He paused his thrusting and considered slowing down his frenzied rhythm, feeling guilty towards the younger man, until he saw his glare, the warmth of the brown irises eclipsed by his icy, fixed stare.  
"I told you to fuck me, not to touch me": a soft voice, suffused with lust but bossy all the same.

He should have known better than to openly defy him.

When he'd first met Ayrton Senna, Elio De Angelis was a star-in-the-making: blond locks, riches, politeness and good education were the topping on an already established quick, clever driver who was aiming to be Lotus' number one that season.  
He had been made aware of his new team-mate's rather unique approach to races and life, but he decided all the gossiping on him being someone special was just paddock talk and nothing more, an impression further reinforced by the shy, soft-spoken words and the general politeness the young man had had about him in the rare occasions they'd met.But how true the "gossip" was, he'd learn soon enough.

"So you're a lefty?" he peered over his shoulder, upon noticing Ayrton's hand would always cover anything he wrote just as they'd been written.  
"Either that or you must be quite the secretive type" he joked, sitting down on a sofa.  
"I am", he answered, still writing and not bothering to clarify which of the two he was.  
Encouraged by his answer Elio pressed on.  
"Until recently, in my country left-handed people were supposed to be protected by the devil, and were therefore forced to use their right hand, in hope of salvation".  
"Yeah, my family actually tried anything in their power to make me change my ways, but it didn't work out as they'd hoped". Ayrton smiled his bitter smile.  
"And why is that?" Elio was intrigued. Maybe he had a weak point, after all.  
"You see..."he started, but then simply added "I make things go my way. Everytime". His face was neutral,but his eyes were shining.  
Elio snorted lightly and he replied" Maybe I'll be the one to change that. Welcome to my team, Ayrton".  
He stood up to shake hands with him, and was relieved to find him compliant and smiling.  
As he passed him by on the way to the boxes, Elio heard him repeat slowly "My team". He shrugged it off. Maybe this guy really was something, but Elio had been part of Lotus for 5 years already, had fought off competion from all of his team-mates including that irritating hothead, Nigel Mansell, an Englishman and Colin's protegé as such. He thought of him and his team-mates as trained fencers in a sword duel, and as such, every attack he'd been thrown, he'd always successfully fended.  
The first race of the season went exactly as Elio had hoped, with him coming in third, and Senna retiring due to car glitches.  
He was the team's hope, he was on the podium on the first race: he expected his team to cheer him on, but coming back to the pits after collecting his trophy, he found the majority of the mechanics discussing the nature of the problem on Ayrton's car;as for Peter, the team boss, he was deep in discussion with the Brazilian.  
Elio waited for the conversation between the two to be over, before heading out to them. Peter paid his homages, but Ayrton didn't even look at him, as if intentionally ignoring him, and went back to his motorhome.

He should have noticed the wind was changing. The signs were all there. But Elio had his pride, and he had a position within the team.

The following race was soaked in rain, the sky lit up by lightning: the Italian made a great race, finishing in 4th while most of his colleagues ended up in the gravel. Not his team-mate though. Elio only noticed his presence as he was preparing to lap him, before winning in truly dominating style.  
He saw his whole team run to circle Ayrton's car, as the Brazilian went through the marshalls disregarding their signalling and with apparently no perception of the dangerous situation on the track.  
He saw his team boss help his teammate out of the car and HUG him like he was going to screw him out of his senses just there.  
He censored his thoughts; this wasn't his style at all. He realised once for all that something had changed. What was happening to him? What was happening inside the team that was once his? 

He decided he needed a chivalrous exchange of ideas with his team-mate. He was as polite, educated and rich as Elio was: surely he'd have agreed to a challenge?

He made his way into the motorhome hoping to find him there, but he wasn't.  
As he went out into the podium area, he saw him, being held up in triumph by the mechanics. Ayrton noticed him as well, looking at him from his higher position and smiling, his eyes shining as they shone that day they'd talked. Elio finally understood what that look meant. The challenge had been on ever since their first day together, and Ayrton was set on winning it.

Elio accepted it, but it soon cleared on him they were not on equal standing: race after race, his mechanics would shrink in number: updated pieces and tested configurations would only happen on Ayrton's car, while his would stay as it was."It's cause your driving style is more conservative and clever. You don't need new solutions.The kid's an all-or-nothing type, he needs a car as extreme as he is" his mechanics would say to calm him down, when he raised his voice in protest.  
Elio was bottling up his discontentment which turned to all-out rage as in the next race Ayrton overtook him by diving on the outside after a side-by-side duel all the way down the straight. Both of them ended up retiring from the race.  
The Italian was furious but chose to confront the Brazilian in the motorhome, away from prying eyes. He ran after his team-mate as he saw him going up the stairs and grabbed him by the shoulders to face him."I thought we agreed to a fair challenge!" he yelled into his face. Ayrton didn't reply, simply raising his arms up to back off from any physical contact, but Elio wasn't satisfied.  
"What now, you were trying to get us killed on track before, weren't you? What's up with the shy-boy act?".  
"I was the one to challenge you and you acknowledged it. Besides", he added coolly,"you're talking about fairness with your hands around my neck, even though I surrendered.Who's the one at fault?".  
He was using his uncharacteristic fit of rage to his advantage, Elio understood this. He'd let off his guard and allowed him a direct hit. This wasn't a duel between fencing gentlemen, he realised. He was facing off a trained warrior.  
He let him go with a sigh, beaten, and saw the corners of his lips turn up in a mocking smile. "You left a gap, I dove in to overtake you.it's called racing" he remarked looking down on him.  
This time Elio wouldn't fall for his tactics. Ayrton wanted to play dirty, fine. He'd beat him at his own game and humiliate him.  
He slammed him into the corridor wall, pressing his thigh between the Brazilian's legs to avoid a further escape and he found his hands travelling up his team-mate's legs to cup his ass. Getting rid of the rolled-up overall was quite easy, since he didn't protest: the shadow of fear that had run for a split second across his eyes was now gone and Ayrton was perfectly still.  
Elio hesitated, taking his time to caress the pert ass in front of him, opening it up before thrusting inside as far as he could, pinning the younger, unmoving man to the wall. He must be in a lot of pain, he thought to himself, noticing Ayrton had gone pale and sweat had started breaking on his forehead.  
The Italian decided he'd gone too far, and tried to ease himself out. He heard a soft, slightly pained voice close to him "So What, you're giving up already? Thought you'd make good use of the only actual chance you have to lead me" he chuckled.  
Now it was Elio's turn to pale out; he furiously rammed his cock once again inside him, thrusting back and forth as hard as he could, not wanting any pleasure for himself, just out of desire to pain and humiliate his team-mate, and now rival.  
"Shut up for once, or I'll make you scream instead" he groaned.  
"Please,do" came the unexpected reply, through ragged breaths.  
Elio trembled: was he actually enjoying it or was he once again toying with him? He didn't know; what he knew was HE was starting to feel aroused by the whole situation, and he wanted to hear the soft, mocking voice break out in screams; pain, pleasure, whichever. He felt he couldn't hold up his building climax anymore and screamed Ayrton's name as he came, collapsing onto him as he emptied himself inside him.  
"No good", was the first sound that filled Elio's ears as he adjusted himself after the all-too-brief bliss. A sigh of discontentment and scorn.  
"Basic skill's there, but there's a lot of work to be done on it. You could have made me come, touched me, for instance"", Ayrton kept analysing Elio's performance in the same dull monotone he used to gave technical feedback to the team.  
"I wouldn't touch you with a stick, you little sick whore"; Elio spat out venomously, sef-loathing evident in his voice.  
"I see.Then, from now on, I'll have you pleasure me.Fuck me all you want, but never once touch me, as you wish. Who knows, your car might suddenly improve". Ayrton's voice was soothing but bossy now, his tone determined and his words final. He knew he'd won.  
Elio let his head fall on his shoulder and resigned himself to his fate.

**Author's Note:**

> Congratulations for reading through to the end! I'm perpetually looking for suggestions on retroF1 drivers, or driver pairings to write on, so feel free to ask me, although it will take me some time to study on the subject :).


End file.
